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Tell us your dreams

Discussion in 'Bad Dog Cafe' started by Larry F, Aug 18, 2009.

  1. getbent

    getbent Telefied Silver Supporter

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    Location:
    San Benito County, California
    I had a dream last night that I realized is archetypal for me, it recurrs every couple of years... here is the dream...

    I'm in a building that is familiar to me but that I have not been in in some time, there are people around who I know and work with or have worked with, they are all out of context and are combined in ways that have nothing to do with the waking world.

    Many of us get to a row of elevators and I go in one and the elevator is huge more like a room and it is all white and would be gleaming but has little details that are a little grungy and worn. The numbers for the buttons are kind of worn off and it is hard to see if it is an 8 or 3 a 6 or an 8 and the buttons are not uniform... some are buttons and some are little raised bars... going into the elevator I was filled with dread that something was going to go wrong with this.

    there is a polite disagreement about which number is which and I'm responsible (and not minding the responsibilty) for pushing the floor... I want the third floor... and I push the buttons and nothing happens.

    No one else seems to mind. I grow frustrated and am anxious to get on with my day and so I leave the elevator and pass several women who I have known casually at work over the years and each is progressively more flirtatious.. but I find the stairs and start up only to realize that my path is blocked...

    There are workman below me pounding and grinding away on something... I realize I can't go up so I try to go down and as I get into the basement there are stairs everywhere leading no where and a bunch of men who are working on something that when I look at it I'm instantly dubious that what they are doing is worthwhile.

    Finally I get out into the great big room.. it is like a childrens library.. low book shelves and tiny chairs and the sun is streaming through the window through mini blinds.... and a woman (like an older kindergarten teacher) says, "that construction is awful, that whole new section won't be done for sometime, the elevators that work are over there" and she points to the other side of the room to 3 or 4 elevators I haven't seen before... but, for some reason I'm sure they will be dependable.... and the dream ends.
     
  2. baseggio

    baseggio TDPRI Member

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    Jul 8, 2009
    Location:
    Chicago, IL
    One recurring dream I have is of moving into new apartments/homes that are labyrinthine, full of hidden rooms and leftover junk from previous residents. I spend the entire time uncovering rooms and exploring. It's weird but awesome.

    I also have the school-related dreams. Sometimes it's not remembering my locker combination. Sometimes it's not remembering where my next class is. Sometimes it's realizing that somehow I've not completed a major requirement and will not graduate.

    My band has a gig tonight, and last night's dream was the pre-gig "nightmare": We get to the venue and somehow my gear is all missing despite having loaded in earlier. We tear the place and our cars apart looking for it, to no avail. Then the bass player (an actually very responsible attorney type guy) remembers that the venue makes you "check in" your gear until your set, like a coat check, and that he had checked in my stuff earlier. This had also apparently happened when we'd played there before! Only this time, when I go to get my gear back, they've legitimately lost a guitar, which leads to an insane shouting match with the proprietors.
     
  3. Ignatius

    Ignatius Tele-Afflicted

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    Jun 29, 2004
    Gee, I can't even begin to imagine how Dr. Freud might analyze this one. :D
     
  4. Ignatius

    Ignatius Tele-Afflicted

    Posts:
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    Joined:
    Jun 29, 2004
    Okay, you asked for it...

    When possible I try to document my dreams because they're so out there.

    Here are some "greatest hits". Apologies for the length of the post. I've removed some real names where appropriate.

    [really had to snip some out because of the post size limit. Dang!]

    ----

    3/9/2008


    For some reason I had been on the road with Barack Obama and his wife, apparently assisting them in some sort of campaign advisory role. I had also not decided for whom I would ultimately cast my ballot and Barack knew this about me. We had come to the end of a campaign phase and it was time for me to pack my things and go home. Our headquarters was in a small, musty old apartment that we had sublet from [edit: some relatives] and the whole clan. The apartment had that very distinct "old stuff" musty smell. It had an "L" shaped kitchen, and there was a smaller, second refrigerator around the corner in the "L". This bothered me - why would you need TWO refrigerators in a small apartment like this?

    I was packing my things and getting ready to head back home. Barack was standing there in his suit and tie, watching me pack my things and offering the occasional reminder to not forget this item or that. Michelle Obama was also there, milling about and doing something. We had all become good friends, having worked so closely and tirelessly on this phase of the campaign.

    As I packed, Barack and I were discussing the ramifications of a plan we had executed that didn't go well. At all. It seems that he and I along with several other people of some significance in the plot had concocted this scheme where it was supposed to appear that we were dead. We had almost pulled it off, but I was the one who was "discovered" and the whole thing fell apart. We had held this mass wake for all of us where were were all sitting in airline seats in this hallway, covered by blankets for the viewing. Dave Smith [edit: actual name changed], the CEO of [a place where I used to work], was coming through the line to view us all - he was part of the group of people that were trying to deceive with our scheme. I used to work for Dave back in the late 80's (in the real, waking world) and he knew me at the time. So Dave comes upon my airline seat. He realizes it's me and he gets quite emotional, which really surprised me (of course I couldn't react because I was "dead"). He was deeply affected by the Eric Clapton LP that someone had placed next to me, apparently because he knew I was a guitar player and this really got to him. Dave reaches down to give me a pat on the head and notices that I'm warm. He immediately becomes very suspicious and angry, places his hand on my head, and gives me a vigorous shove which sends me, my airline seat, and my Eric Clapton LP sliding and careening down the hallway. The wheels really came off the wagon at that point.

    So Barack and I are in Uncle [edit] and Aunt [edit]'s apartment discussing how to recover from this snafu as I pack my things, and Barack is assuring me that it won't turn out to be that big of a deal. Next thing, we're outside - in the parking lot of a run down motel - and I'm bidding my farewell to Barack and Michelle. They thanked me for working with them, and Barack, still aware that I hadn't decided who I would be voting for, just sort of casually mentions a recent conversation he'd had with Jackie Gleason.

    I stop doing whatever I was doing and stood there, awestruck. "..............you know Jackie Gleason?"

    "Yes, I met with him recently. Michelle is encouraging me to play him in a play about his life." And right then, Barack spins around. He faces me again and he's in full Ralph Cramden garb and he does a dead-accurate "ONE OF THESE DAYS, ALICE!"

    I told Barack he'd be getting my vote. There was no longer any question about it.

    I glanced at him again and he was wearing the Muslim robe like in that photo that is circulating around the internet and news media.

    And I woke up.

    ----

    6/24/2008


    My brother and I had made arrangements to meet at a club or cafe, during the DAY, to catch a hot jazz combo. I walked in and found my brother sitting at a table. The musicians, a four piece combo consisting of guitar, drums, bass, and a female vocalist, had a bit of a lounge-y appearance to them which disturbed us both slightly. They tore into their first song and it was a selection from the first Pat Metheny Group 'white album'. The guitarist was playing through a Roland Jazz Chorus amp, I remember that distinctly, and he played the parts pretty well dead on but with absolutely NO finesse. He kept doing Pete Townshend windmill things with his right arm and his dynamics weren't right at all. The female vocalist was singing lyrics which she had presumably written herself to 'improve' upon the Metheny instrumental composition, but in the cheesy loungey style that matched their appearance and we didn't quite know what to make of that either. Suddenly she stops the band in mid song and launches into a detailed explanation as to why they wouldn't be able to continue with their performance. It seems that she suffered from some chronic condition that caused her big toe on her right foot to swell uncontrollably, and she said that while it would usually swell to two or three times it's normal size, on this particular day it had swollen to a height that was approximately knee level. I craned my head to see through the crowd, who like me were trying to get a glimpse of her grotesque and malformed toe, and I could indeed see a huge, tumor-like fleshy toe taking up a good portion of her side of the stage. Then I woke up.

    It was a good one.


    ----

    1/12/2009
    [my wife's] father had apparently inherited a fortune. I'm talking real wealth here, not just a couple million. Uber-rich. He had sought the advice of a financial adviser to determine how best to invest it, and we were all gathered for a family meeting at a restaurant where he announced that he had purchased the Rolling Stones. He'd own all rights to the band's name, merchandise, ticket sales, song catalog, the whole shootin' match. Mick, Keith and company would be employees of this new corporate entity.

    With all of this to digest, [my wife's] brother took me aside in a room to express his deep concern that his father was squandering his fortune because he found out he had just ordered himself a brand new Chrysler.

    That was pretty much the whole dream. At one point I think I was wondering if I'd actually get to meet the band.


    ----

    1/19/2009

    I was in some sort of a dormitory. Apparently I was living there as part of a work assignment, and in my dream I knew the other residents well but they weren't people I know in the non-dream world. So I'm in my bathrobe and PJ's, shuffling down the hall in my slippers and other residents of the dorm were milling about. I duck into a cubby-like area where they kept the coffee makers and wait in line to pour myself a cup. Then he appears - George W. Bush himself, in full suit complete with flag pin on the lapel. He walks directly over to me, motions over his shoulder and says, "Oval? Can you meet with me in the Oval for a few minutes?" Being that I was in my bathrobe I replied, "Mr. President, I'm hardly dressed appropriately for a meeting in the oval office. I wouldn't want to show disrespect to the office of the Presidency." (that's exactly how I replied in my dream, I remember that clearly). 'W' responded in his folksy manner that it didn't matter that I was wearing my bathrobe and PJ's, and he mentioned that he'd met with various members of his staff when they were dressed similarly.

    I follow him through a hallway, we pass a few Secret Service guys, walk through a doorway and sure as anything it's the freakin' Oval Office. Condi was sitting on a blue sofa. I introduced myself to her and the three of us sit down and get to business. W starts asking me about a meeting I'd attended recently regarding fitness. That's all, just 'fitness". In my dream I seemed vaguely familiar with the fact that I'd attended such a meeting but I had no idea what he was asking me for specifically (I'd imagine this to be a common theme in his Oval Office). An aide brings a big stack of reports to us. All of them were encased in those clear folders with the plastic spine you affix to it to hold the papers inside the folder and the three of us start shuffling and leafing through them. I guess we were looking for a report that summarized this meeting I had apparently attended, but no one really stated what we were looking for. We did this for about ten minutes and George decides that we aren't going to find it in the stack of reports, so we turn our attention to another topic. He looks me squarely in the eye and says "What about that report you wrote about poverty?" I stare blankly at him for a moment while I wonder why the hell I'm in the oval office and why the hell he thinks I know anything about this stuff, and then I tell him that perhaps he might be thinking of work done by a colleague of mine. He seems a bit confused and befuddled, but agrees with me. I sense that he's either lost interest in trying to track this stuff down, or he's decided that I'm the wrong guy to be talking to. We exchange our salutations and an aide hands me a gift basket commemorating my visit. I dump it out on a table and it's full of New York Yankees souvenirs, which I thought was pretty nifty. I gather them back up and start to make my way to the door to leave when I notice Condi approaching me. She reminds me we had met previously and I was supposed to get her that gravy recipe. Then I woke up.
     
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